


Letting Go

by Cornerofmadness



Series: Price of Grief [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Medical Conditions, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: Recovering from the aftermath of what Ainsley did to protect her secret will not be easy. Malcolm isn’t even sure he wants to recover but what he does know is he needs peace of mind. He’ll never get it if he’s still in contact with his father.
Series: Price of Grief [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149635
Comments: 12
Kudos: 24
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2021





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cozy_coffee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_coffee/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
> 
> **Notes:** Written for cozy_coffee for the prompt Any, any, You'll Know the Bottom When You Hit It and for the allbingo prompt of helplessness and the hurt comfort bingo wildcard spot. It is a follow up to Three Can Keep a Secret but if you care not to read that, this is stand alone enough.

Stepping out of the shower, Malcolm toweled off and steadied himself as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He was used to being tired but his new normal was somewhere beyond that. How he hated that term ‘new normal’ but he didn’t know what else to call it. He wanted to dress as quickly as he could, to hid the scars on his wrists from his sight but there was so much had to do first, all part of this horrible new ritual.

He peeled off the dressing tape so he could take the plastic dressing off of his dialysis catheter. He swapped betadine around the catheter stoma letting it dry before pulling on his clothing, including the little pouch he tucked the catheter tubing into. He had his automatic cycler set up to do exchanges all night so he wouldn’t have to drain the dialysis fluid for another four hours.

Steeling himself for the trudge downstairs, Malcolm scooted out of the bathroom, managing to see as little of himself as possible in the mirror. It was Mother he felt sorry for. She’s the one who had to look at the changes in him all day, the gray pallid skin, the strange rashes that popped up or worse. He hadn’t told her his plans for today. She’d only get furious and he had enough anxiety already without adding that on.

He made it to the game room where a hospital bed had been set up. He wanted Mother to get rid of it now that he was sleeping in his bedroom but she wanted to leave it for now. He’d still be sleeping in it every night if she had her way, with her curled up on the couch watching him. Malcolm understood. He was all she had left. Ainsley had been dissociative, the clinical definition of temporarily insane, when she killed Endicott but _he_ had made the choice to cover it up, to lie to her about what had happened. What he should have done was anything other than what he had and he damn well should have made sure she got the therapy she needed. He made the mistake of buying into what Mother and his sister had always said: Ainsley was the strong stable one. What he hadn’t known was when she got back her memories, Ainsley realized the killing had awakened something in her. Worse she feared he would turn on her and betray her like he had Dad.

It had been a handful of months since Ainsley had drugged him and slit his wrists to stage his suicide – with plans to add their father to list so no one knew her secret. Malcolm regretted managing to call 911. He barely survived. He wished he hadn’t. His life was in utter ruins. All he could do now was at least keep his mother from drowning in her grief. It was one of the reasons he was still living at the house. For all he knew his loft was gone. While he had been in a medically induced coma, Mother could have sold it. He hadn’t broached the subject yet. He simply didn’t have the strength. He wasn’t sure he would want to go back knowing his blood had seeped into the floorboards, knowing his sister had nearly murdered him there.

He sat on the bed and turned on the TV. Maybe Mother was out somewhere, not that he knew where she would be. If she had been exiled after what her husband did, it was even worse now that Ainsley had done what she had. He wasn’t sure if his sister would be in a secure mental hospital for life like Dad but she was there for the foreseeable future. He hadn’t gone back since he saw her last week. Malcolm just couldn’t face her again. Maybe one day he’d forgive her but not now.

“I thought I heard you up,” Mother called, sailing in the room with forced cheer on her face. She presented him with a bowl of low-fat yogurt and some sliced strawberries. With his kidney issues, he had to be very careful about what he ate. If he thought everything made him sick before, it was nothing compared to now.

“Morning, Mother.” Malcolm accepted the bowl because his usual food avoidance couldn’t fly any longer, not if he wanted any chance of recovery. He swirled the fruit into it. “I’m going out today.”

“Do you want company?”

“No!” Realizing how sharp that came out, seeing the hurt in her eyes, he took a deep breath in. “It’s private otherwise I’d take you with.”

She narrowed her eyes, started to say something, and then put up a hand. “Fine. Do you need Adolpho?”

“I can take an Uber,” he replied, grateful she let him lie.

“You most certainly will not. What if you hit a traffic snarl?”

“How will that differ if I’m with Adolpho?”

“I trust him, that’s how. Also, he knows your condition. If something happens…” Her throat worked hard, her words strangling off as her eyes misted over. 

“I’ll be fine.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. Malcolm wanted it to be true even if it likely wasn’t. 

“He’s not in yet. I wasn’t going anywhere so I gave him the morning off.”

Malcolm wrinkled his nose, taking a bite of his yogurt. It wasn’t half bad. He should have thought about where Adolpho would be when he planned this out. “When will he be here?”

“I’m sure I can have him here by noon.”

He shook his head. That would take him right to his drain time. “One o’clock will be fine.”

“Very well.” She kissed his crown and left him in peace. He was still getting use to that, both being left in peace and her being so demonstrative. In his first days home, it was as if she were afraid he’d be gone if she wasn’t touching him. She’d hovered until he melted down. He apologized but he knew she’d been hurt. 

If only she still had Gil. She’d confessed she’d broken it off with him even before Ainsley had come for Malcolm. She blamed herself for him being stabbed. Malcolm blamed himself and Eve since they had alerted Endicott. If only his damn father had just been honest with him instead of trying to minimize his involvement. If he had just said, ‘Endicott is a monster,’ and explained exactly why Eve would still be alive. Gil would never have been stabbed. Mother would never have dated Endicott. He’d never have been framed for murder. Ainsley would never have committed murder. 

All those what ifs killed him. Now he didn’t even have anyone to turn to talk about it all. He was toxic in so many ways. He told Dani and JT it was fine. They didn’t have to forgive what he’d done – even if they were so inclined – and they didn’t have to try to be his friend. He would only ruin their careers too. Gil had distanced himself at long last, horrified by it all. Edrisa talked to him sometimes. People paid less attention to what she did than they would cops of color. 

What he wouldn’t give to talk to them all again, to have his team with him. He was back to being truly alone. At least he was practiced with it.

XXX

Adolpho had left him at the front door. Malcolm wished it had been Gil to bring him. He might have had Malcolm asked. Gil might have distanced himself but he still at least spoke to Malcolm when Malcolm needed him. He’d sent a text to Gil telling him where he was and what he was doing once he was underway just in case something went wrong. He couldn’t tell Mom he was coming to Claremont. She’d fear the stress would wreck him. She could be right. 

Malcolm checked himself before signing into the hospital. He’d know if his catheter was leaking but he couldn’t help doublechecking to be sure it was in its little pouch hidden under his shirt and suit jacket. No one would know it was there, an advantage to having the best tailors money could buy.

As he walked the hall to his father’s cell, he told himself this was it. This would be a hard conversation to top all the other hard conversations but he could do it. He’d done it once before and made it stick. Now he had even more reason. Once Mr. David opened the cell door and his father saw it was him, he nearly knocked himself to the floor by rushing the red line.

“Malcolm, my boy!” It wasn’t his usual cheery salutation. Fear rode those three words as the tether jerked his father back hard, making him stumbled. “No one would tell me how you were! No one answered my calls.”

“I no longer have a phone,” he lied. 

His father cocked his head “Are you sure that’s wise? You don’t look well, son. Mr. David please, put a chair here for Malcolm.” He pointed to a spot close to the line.

Mr. David glanced at Malcolm who nodded. He might as well let his father have that. After Mr. David set the chair down and Malcolm tried to sit with as much calm and grace as he could muster, his father rolled his task chair over as close as he could. 

“Should you be here? Not that I’m not glad to see you.” Dad reached out to him but couldn’t get anywhere near Malcolm who remembered the fear that had jolted through him the first time his father had reached over the line and caught his hands: a fear that had melted into something akin to fondness. Worse, he remembered the sick joy running through him when his father had helped him off the basement floor after he’d been tasered. He regretted that sensation ever since.

“I won’t be long,” he replied. He had no choice in that really.

“Your mother never called me back. I even called Gilly at the station but he hung up on me. All I wanted to know was how you were. I heard it on the news that your sister attacked you. That can’t be true. And no one said a word for months now!”

“Mother made her choice on that and I…wasn’t in any shape to respond.” Malcolm gritted his teeth, all the lines he’d rehearsed for this gone from his brain. “Ainsley planned to kill you.”

Dad sat back so hard and fast his task chair rolled back from the line. He shook his head. “No, that’s not true.”

“She was having tea time with you, right?” Malcolm leaned forward, his gut twinging a bit as the catheter pulled slightly.

His father dragged a hand through his wild curls. Mr. David hadn’t cuffed him up because Malcolm asked the front desk to not give warning he was on his way up. “She said she wasn’t going to tell you about that.”

“You of all people should know what can be hidden in a cup of tea,” Malcolm said, almost enjoying the bitter look his father shot him. It was good that he be reminded of all he had destroyed. “In your case it was going to be digitalis because Ains knew no one would autopsy you. Mom would have pushed for a quick cremation, and then no one would know about Endicott.”

“That is sick. Your sister would never…,” he trailed off as Malcolm slipped off his jacket and yanked down a sleeve to show the deep red raised scars on his left wrist. Dad’s color drained away, his pupils dilating as the autonomic fear response took hold.

“She did this to me. She drugged me and staged my suicide. In her words, if I could betray you, I could betray her. For all I know, she would have blamed me for Endicott had it come to it and I would have been too dead to protest.”

Dad cupped his hands over his mouth, rocking forward, his eyes still on Malcolm’s scars. “Where is your sister, Malcolm? The papers didn’t report much after the attack.”

“In a place like this. I think she wanted to be in the women’s ward here but they wanted no chance you and she could talk or for her to somehow find a way to hasten your death. I think she’ll be in her hospital maybe as long as you’ve been here.” He flopped his cuff down. “I’ve only seen her once since it happened. I can’t deal with more.”

“I can’t believe what my girl did,” Dad said softly, dropping his hands to his knees. He sat back, catching Malcolm’s eye. “And Gil and sweet Dani, do they know what you did?”

He nodded. “I’ve been found guilty of gross abuse of a corpse and aiding and abetting after the fact. My sentence was given as time served after all things were considered. You’ll be happy to know I’m no longer a profiler.”

His father cocked up an eyebrow. “That doesn’t make me happy.”

“I think it does Mother but not for this reason. She never wanted this. She’s barely holding on in case you want to know. Please stop calling her, sir. It’s only making it worse.”

Dad swore under his breath, slapping his hands down against his thighs. He stood up so fast the chair rocketed away and Mr. David jumped to his feet just in case it was necessary to restrain him. “It’s not fair, my boy. You need your work. You have a calling.”

“I have _nothing_. I’m a ruined shell. Even if this didn’t make it impossible to work, I’m in no shape.” 

His father paced along the line, not listening to him. Malcolm saw it in his eyes. “As much as I _hate_ you working for the police, you are brilliant at what you do, son. You can’t give it up.”

“I have no choice. I _dismembered_ Endicott. Not surprising the police do not want someone capable of doing that working for them. Neither do universities so I can’t fall back on teaching the next generation of profilers. Like I told Ainsley, I’ll be lucky if I’m not your next therapist.”

That ignited a glint of humor in his father’s eyes. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy spending the time with you, do you know anything about therapy?”

“I’ve been in it most of my life,” Malcolm grated out, bitter as gall. “But yes I would need a few more classes and practice, maybe less to work in a place like this.” He imagined the sorts of therapists that ended up in places like Claremont. It would be a mix of the dreamers imagining they could change someone like The Surgeon and those burned out or had made such major mistakes without losing their license that this was what they could get.

Dad shook his head. “It doesn’t suit you. You could work with a private organization like the Vidocq Society or Gil….” He paused, lifting his chin as he studied him.

Malcolm flinched as his father widened his eyes. Once again Dad had seen straight through him. 

“Gil isn’t actually speaking to you, is he? Now what kind of father figure is that?” His father’s mocking tone cut as sharp as any of his scalpels would have.

Malcolm averted his gaze, tramping on his temper. It wouldn’t serve him today. “That’s not true. I’m the one who cut the ties. We still talk but I can’t be the millstone around his neck. I would destroy his career and his life if I expected nothing to change. That goes for Dani and JT too so I cut them off. Gil talks to me, he still cares but there is nothing he can do to help me. I don’t expect him to try.”

Dad watched him like a cat with a target to play with. “How magnanimous of you.”

Malcolm glowered. “Don’t start with me. It’s hard enough right now.”

“It seems to me you’re giving up on everything. I’m deeply concerned, Malcolm.” He sat back down in front of Malcolm.

He sighed heavily. “I’m not…maybe I am. What is there left?”

“Don’t you think I asked myself that after you did this to me.” He spread his arms wide to indicate the cell.

Malcolm stared at his feet, unable to look his father in the eye. “This is different.”

“Because it’s happening to you,” his father sniffed dismissively.

“No! Never mind. I’m not even sure why I’m here.” Malcolm slashed a hand in the air. “I have to leave soon anyhow.”

“Well then tell me how it’s different.”

“You don’t know what happened. Mother said she refused all of your calls since Ainsley… and I don’t think the whole story has been in the papers. I’m not that interesting.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve kept most articles I’ve found about my family in the paper. I knew you’d been hurt. I knew they said it was Ainsley but I didn’t believe…” Dad trailed off, studying his hands. “I honestly thought it was a false flag, that they might have been trying to ensnare some of Endicott’s partners.”

“Don’t I wish? I’m just done, Dad,” he whispered, not having the energy to keep his emotional distance, to keep calling him Dr. Whitly, not with what he had planned. “I’m empty.”

“Tell me what happened, beyond Ainsley thought you’d betray her because I know she had something to fear.”

Malcolm flashed his wrists again. “As I said, she overdosed me on my medications and she slit my wrists. She didn’t take my phone because she thought I’d stay unconscious from the meds. I managed to call 911 but it was a little too late. Not all of me made it back.”

Dad sat forward as close to the line as he could, his nostrils flaring. “I had hoped I was imagining it or someone had an accident in the hall that you didn’t avoid but it’s uremic fetor I’m smelling, isn’t it?”

“Fuck,” Malcolm let the swear slip and dug in his pocket for a mint. They didn’t help disguise the ammonia-piss smell on his breath when the fetor played up but he tried to mask it anyhow. To his shock, his father’s face seemed to melt like a candle in a house fire. He aged a decade before Malcolm’s eyes.

His voice shook when he asked, “You lost your kidneys to the hypovolemic shock?”

“Not entirely. I have thirty percent function,” Malcolm reported robotically.

His father held his hands in front of him as if he were about to reach out and enfold Malcolm in them but then let them drop. “I wondered why you hadn’t had the scars on your arms reduced. A plastic surgeon could have made that less noticeable. Your kidneys aren’t going to handle more anesthesia. Oh son, I’m so sorry.”

Malcolm actually believed him. “It’s why I’ll have to leave soon. It’ll be time for dialysis.” When Dad’s eyes swept his arms looking for the dialysis shunt, Malcolm lifted his shirt and exposed the catheter piercing into his abdomen. “Peritoneal. They say it’ll give me more freedom to do the absolutely nothing I have left to do in my life.” 

“Then they’re hoping your kidneys will recover in time. That’s hopeful.”

“What does it matter? My life is destroyed. I know I’ve said it before. I accused you of it. That was…emotional destruction. Ainsley has taken care of the rest but hey, most of the hand tremor is gone. She managed to hit tendon and nerve. Most of it is repaired. I do my therapy for that too, not sure why.” Hysteria tinged his voice. Malcolm fought to stitch himself back together but he was fraying too fast.

“Please, Malcolm. Don’t give up so soon. You have…”

“What,” He snapped cutting dad off. “I have so much to live for? You know, whenever I was done for emotionally, especially after coming here, Jackie would try to cheer me up. She was Gil’s wife by the way. She’d tell me I would be fine because no matter how bad I felt, I hadn’t hit bottom. I’d ask her how she knew. She said you'll know the bottom when you hit it. She was so right. I definitely know that I hit it now.”

“Any other folksy wisdom she cared to share?” Dad narrowed his eyes, probably mulling over the idea Gil had a wife. Malcolm knew what his father thought Gil wanted. He’d been right about that but all of that was over now.

“That at least rock bottom was a solid place to turn around on. She might not have been right there.”

“Or maybe she was.”

Malcolm shook his head. “The irony of it all is I don’t even remember what happened with Endicott.”

His father’s brow crinkled. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?”

If Malcolm thought Dad had lost color before it was nothing like now. His cardigan and inmate uniform were positively multicolored compared to the cadaver whiteness of his skin. He shook his head violently, murmuring no, no, no.

“They’re calling it an anoxic event versus a full-on stroke,” Malcolm said, staring his father right in the eye. “I’ve lost memories. I had to read about what I did to Endicott from Ainsley’s interrogation. I don’t remember it. I might be better off that way. I’ve had seizures. I will never be the same again. I am _done_ as far as my former life. Maybe I could work with a private group like Vidocq down the road if they could forgive me trying to hide what Ainsley did but is my mind up for it? I don’t know.”

Dad tried to say something but he couldn’t get the words out. 

“Do you know how much it _hurt_ bleeding to death? To feel your tissues screaming for oxygen? How much did your victims scream?” This time he let his temper free, let it be as vicious and wounding as it could because it would make what came next that much easier. “I can tell you how much I did…or tried to. There wasn’t enough strength for it by the end.”

His hands shaking, his father templed them over his mouth and nose. “This isn’t about me, Malcolm. It’s about you. What I did doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it? Did you give Ainsley the diaries she read or did she sneak them out of here? Does the pattern of cuts look familiar?” Malcolm tore down both cuffs and held them up in front of his father’s face again. “Didn’t you draw this once?”

Dad’s gaze cut over to his bookcase, horror in his eyes. Maybe Ainsley had stolen the diaries. “I am so sorry, son.”

“Me too. I’m the one who has to live with this. Mother wants me to move somewhere I’d be happier but she doesn’t want me to go alone. Doesn’t trust me to stay alive I’m sure. I was thinking of somewhere quiet like a little cottage in Wales or maybe Cape Breton. I liked it there the one time I visited. Change my name again, just go be the rich trust fund kid doing nothing, wasting his life or what’s left of it.”

“You’d leave New York again?” A note of panic hit Malcolm’s ear.

“That’s why I’m here, Dad. Whether or not I move is irrelevant. This is my last visit. I cannot keep doing this. It’s too hard on me. I was afraid all the way here I’d forget something important that I needed to say because of the memory issues, that I’d get so worked up I’d have a seizure right here. I’m not seeing Ainsley anymore and I won’t be seeing you. I need peace if I have any chance of healing. I won’t find it here.” Malcolm stood up and picked up his jacket, starting to slide it on.

“No, please, you can’t stop coming. I don’t have any other way of talking to you, not if you don’t have a phone. They’ll never let me talk to your sister now. You’re all I have, Malcolm.” Dad jumped to his feet, pulling to the end of his tether.

“Maybe so but I have to do what I need to for my own sanity, which if you hadn’t guessed, I’m barely clinging to.” He smoothed his hands down his jacket. “I won’t be back.”

“Malcolm-”

“I’m serious, Dad, but I’ll make you this promise, if something happens to me either Mother or Gil will call you so you don’t have to find out from the papers or TV time.” Malcolm bit his lip to keep it from trembling at the thought. It could easily happen. He was ready. What he wasn’t ready for were tears standing in his father’s eyes or the way his whole body seemed to slump in resignation.

“No, Malcolm, that’s not what I want. You need to stay!”

“If you truly mean it when you say you love me, you’ll let me go, Dad. I can’t keep coming here. I can’t do this anymore. It is killing what’s left of me.”

His father swallowed hard and suddenly lunged forward, managing to snag Malcolm’s wrist. He hauled Malcolm across the line.

“Hey!” Mr. David’s chair hit the wall as he leapt up. “Let him go, Dr. Whitly.”

“I’m not going to hurt my son, Mr. David. You don’t have to call in all the tasers within Walkie-Talkie distance,” Dad spat and he wrapped his arms around Malcolm. “I’m saying goodbye.”

He hugged Malcolm tight and Malcolm returned it unconsciously. His father’s hug wasn’t as comforting and tender as the ones Gil gave him but it was the first time his father had held him like this in twenty years. It would be the last time. To his surprise he felt tears splashing against his skin as he pulled away. 

Malcolm turned and almost made it to the door before he stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “Goodbye, Dad.”

“Take care of yourself, Malcolm. Give yourself time to heal. You might change your mind.”

Malcolm all but dove out the door because his father might be right. He didn’t cry until he got out the front door and he saw Gil waiting for him. He didn’t even know what he was doing there. Gil folded him into another hug and Malcolm lingered in this one.

“I sent Adolpho home. Come on, I’ll take you.” Gil slipped his arm around Malcolm’s shoulder and steered him toward his new car.

Malcolm pulled away gently. “Why are you here, Gil?”

“You texted me you were coming to say goodbye to your father. Where else would I be?”

“Someone might see.”

Gil curled his lip. “Let them. I wish I could take you somewhere pretty where you could just relax.”

“I have to go home for my dialysis.” Malcolm sobbed loudly, unable to keep that much grief contained.

“I know.”

Gil walked him to the car and took him home, letting him dissolve into a puddle of salt as his heart shattered again. This was the right thing to do. He’d been a fool to reestablish contact with his father. It was toxic and codependent but this hurt. Gil didn’t judge him. He simply helped Malcolm back into the house and to the game room where the hospital bed waited for him where Gil surrendered him to his mother. When Malcolm reached for him, Gil pulled up a chair and sat with him, his gaze never going to the fluids draining out of him – he knew Malcolm didn’t like people to look. Things were still broken with Gil, probably always would be but at least he still cared. Malcolm needed to remember people still cared about him and that included his father. He didn’t quite know what to do with that. Maybe one day he would.


End file.
